“You bet your life it does,” Dawkins said, “but there is something in your tone of voice, Colonel . . .”
“Sir?”
“What exactly do you know about Captain McCoy?” Dawkins asked.
“Well, sir, from what I understand of Captain McCoy, he was lucky to be retained on active duty as an officer as long as he was.”
“Anything else?” Dawkins asked, softly.
“Sir, as I understand the situation,” Colonel Brewer began, slowly, having sensed that he was marching on very thin ice, and having absolutely no idea why that should be, “Captain McCoy was commissioned from enlisted status in the early days of World War Two when the Corps was desperately seeking officers.”
“And we commissioned practically anybody who could see lightning and hear thunder?” Dawkins asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else?” Dawkins asked.
“Well, sir, it’s come to my attention that he’s . . . uh . . . in a financial position where he would be better off to spend his last twenty-nine days in the Corps on duty, rather than on leave. So that he could be paid for his unused accrued leave on separation, sir.”
“And what would you have Captain McCoy doing on his last twenty-nine days of active service, Colonel?”
“Well, sir, as I’m sure you know, there’s always something an officer can do. Inventory supply rooms. The Exchange. That sort of thing.”
“Colonel,” Dawkins said. “Listen to me carefully. I’ll tell you what you are going to do vis-à-vis Captain McCoy, who is at this moment en route here. You will immediately receive him in your office. Ninety seconds after you receive him in your office, he will depart your office on leave until the last day of his active service as an officer. When he reports back here on that last day of service, you will have arranged for the hospital to give him his separation physical examination on a personal basis—that is to say, it will take no longer than sixty minutes. If the hospital has any problem with that, have them contact me. When Captain McCoy has his separation physical in hand, you will personally hand him his final pay and his travel orders to his home of record, and wish him well in his civilian career. You understand all that?”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Colonel Brewer said.
“See that it happens, Harry,” Dawkins said to Colonel Wade.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Come on, Art,” General Dawkins said to Captain McGowan, and walked out of the room.
[SIX]
OFFICE OF THE CHIEF FOR OFFICER RECORDS OFFICE OF THE ASSISTANT CHIEF OF STAFF, G-1 HEADQUARTERS CAMP PENDLETON, CALIFORNIA 1610 8 JUNE 1950
“You wanted to see me, Colonel?” Major Robert B. Macklin, USMC, inquired of Lieutenant Colonel Peter S. Brewer, USMC, from Brewer’s open office door.
“Come in, Macklin,” Brewer said, “and close the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
“About this Captain McCoy, Macklin . . .”
“Yes, sir?”
“I want to make sure I have this straight in my mind,” Brewer said. “From what you told me, you served with him. Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where was that?”
“I was on several occasions stationed in the same places as McCoy, sir, but I don’t know if that could be construed as ‘serving with’ him, sir.”
“For example?”
“The first time I ran into McCoy, sir, I was in intelligence in the 4th Marines in Shanghai, and he was a machine-gun section leader in one of the companies. I knew of his reputation there.”
“Which was?”
“Sir, I . . . uh . . . I’m a bit reluctant, under the circumstances . . .”
“This is just between you and me, Macklin. Let’s have it.”
“He was known as ‘the Killer,’ sir. He got into a knife fight—a drunken brawl, as I understand it—with some Italian Marines, and killed one of them. I was surprised that he wasn’t court-martialed for that, and even more surprised when I was an instructor at the Officer Candidate School at Quantico, when McCoy showed up there.”
“I see.”
“At the time, knowing what kind of a man he was, I recommended that he be dropped from the officer training program. I just didn’t think he was officer material, sir.”